A few days later...
It's Sunday now, the last night of my holiday. There've
been some crises, of course...how could we live without a drama or two? However, half the
laundry is done, and should be dry for tomorrow (but not ironed, of course - no...never
that). Half the washing up too, and half the junk picked off the floor. Hmmm...maybe half
-measures are creeping in to one's life.
Into life
maybe, but not lifestyle. My God this has been a couple of isolated weeks. Maybe
too much so. Maybe there's been over-exposure to these IRC people, who - however charming
- we'll never ever meet, and too little to one's own nearest and dearest.
Website matters:
Roll on, new computer!! With this old steamroller, I reckon only about ten minutes in
every hour actually achieve anything - the rest spent "watching the egg-timer".
This coupled with a mere 28.8 modem leads to long frustrating delays. However, there
are a couple of things I want to complete before starting back.
The very first
page, mainpage.htm needs editing and formatting. The IRC class (still probably the
high spot of the holiday) will interest some readers, so we provide a taste of it. Plus
one of my researchers stumbled on a great bot page. Visit the site and you can talk live
to both the oldest and then the most up-to-date Intelligent
Agents. Haven't tried them myself yet, tho, as I'm a
bit scared of what they might find out.
Watched the film Stonewall last
night, and found it very moving. I identified with at least three of the characters - drag
queen LaMiranda,
also the arty-farty young writer, and finally the tedious middle-aged apologist cum
activist.
"I've
never danced with a man before."
"Why's
that honey?"
"Don't
know. Just spent so much of my life fighting for the right to do it, that I never found
the time."
However, try as
this one might, I couldn't see myself being Matty
Dean, the star - too much of a hunk. (Him, silly
- not me!)
But sadly I fell
completely asleep and missed the last half hour - the world-famous fight with the cops. I
do hope Matty didn't get killed. Don't email and tell me he did. Let me hold on to
something - puhleeze darling.
LaMiranda and
her chums will be in their mid to late fifties now, as will all the glamour boys on Fire
Island Beach. Those who survive, that is.
But for people
in this neck of the woods of a certain age, the words Fire Island will for ever mean
something quite different - which maybe I'll get round to telling you some day!
Enjoy #class and
botpage.
